


The Knight School

by Inocain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: /r/WritingPrompts, Prompt Fic, Reddit Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-18 20:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inocain/pseuds/Inocain
Summary: Inspired by a writing prompt on Reddit's /r/WritingPrompts. This may be expanded on in the future, but this is left here as is. The original prompt was: "The Ministry of Magic has finally recovered the lost Hogwarts Letters from 1998 and elected to send them out. It’s your 32nd birthday, and you wake up to the sound of fluttering wings in your kitchen."





	The Knight School

I had long since given up on being anything special. I was lucky, but that was it. I always seemed to draw the right card at precisely the right time or have balls that seemed just out of reach fall into my hands at the last moment, but as for being in any way anything out of the ordinary? I'd left those hopes and dreams behind more than a decade previous. After all, there's no such thing as magic, or so I'd come to believe.

And so I'd settled into a simple, quiet life. I owned a small computer repair business just outside Phoenix, where we'd moved after my father retired from the Air Force after 10 years bouncing around England deployed to the various RAF bases that the US had a presence at. While I inherited his love for planes and the idea of flying, I was never quite able to shake my severe airsickness and tended to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground. Occasionally my father would take me up in a small plane where I could see what was going on, which helped some, but never could build up the courage to fly on my own. There was something about it that just didn't seem right to me, though I never could quite put my finger on why.

I'd been born on November 11, 1986, a few years before the end of the Cold War, in an American military hospital in England, where my father was a pilot. But more than anything, his first love was tinkering. He'd buy broken tools for no other reason than to take them apart and see what he could do with all the bits and pieces. Once computers became an everyday thing, they too got added to the list of things to tinker with. Of course, I was often the person who had to put everything back together again once a tinkering session went a little too far, and it seemed I had quite the knack for it.

When I wasn't cleaning up after my father, I spent much of my free time reading. My favorite books were typically high fantasy, such as the Lord of the Rings and generally anything with wizards and magic. I'd been given a kit of magic tricks for a birthday around 7 or 8, but quickly lost interest in them for being "not real enough".

It was Armistice Day 2018, a Sunday, and I'd spent most of the morning sleeping in. After all, that is what one does on the weekend, and especially on one's birthday. I stumbled down the stairs, rubbing sleep from my eyes, when I heard a rustling from inside my kitchen. I got to the doorway (not that there was a door, but it's where one would have gone), stopped, and stared at the sight in front of me, blinking in confusion. Perched on the back of my chair was a nearly pure white snowy owl, and tied to its leg was a silvery pouch. The owl looked extremely worn out and wobbled to the floor almost as soon as I took off the pouch. Inside was an envelope of parchment, sealed with wax and a symbol I could not recognize. Inside there was another envelope with a different seal, as well as a folded up note, all in parchment. I opened the note and read:

> Mr. Michael Brannigan,
> 
> We apologize for the delay in this letter's arrival. It should have arrived on November 11, 1998, your 11th birthday. However, due to political unrest and upheaval at the time, your letter was lost, along with several others. We recently discovered these lost letters, and have sent them out to their intended recipients.
> 
> While we regret that we cannot enroll you and the others into normal Hogwarts classes, we are pleased to offer you a free replacement as an apology for our previous failures. Should you accept, you will be instructed at the Knight School, which we have specifically formed for adult wizards and witches like yourself who were denied a magical education or who wish to take additional O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts. Should you choose to accept, we would be able to assist you in relocating to England for the duration of your education, or, should you wish, for longer. If you wish to remain in America, we can also assist in trying to find you a tutor for your magical skills.
> 
> We understand that the owl we sent will likely be exhausted after her flight to you from London. There should be some treats for her in the pouch as well as these letters. We would appreciate it if you would give them to her. They will help her recover and prepare for the long journey home. She will wait for a response, should you desire to send one. If not, please simply tie the pouch to her leg. She will know how to return home.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Anthony Goldstein
> 
> Department of Magical Education, Ministry of Magic

I turned over the second envelope, and read the address on it.

> Mr. M. Brannigan
> 
> Temporary Family Housing
> 
> RAF Lakenheath
> 
> Suffolk

I wondered for a moment how they could possibly have known that we were there on Armistice Day all those years ago. We had just been transferred there the beginning of November that year, hardly enough time for a complete stranger to know to write to us at the new station. Opening the envelope, I admired the emerald green color of the ink for a moment before reading the aged and slightly worn letter inside.

> Dear Mr Brannigan,
> 
> We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


End file.
